Emotionless

Her shoulder blades shifted beneath her skin with each step, a rhythmic play of motion that caught his eye. Jere found himself staring - not at her face, nor her fur, but the subtle rise and fall of muscle beneath. It wasn’t beauty he noticed, but mechanics, something precise, almost hypnotic.

She soon felt the weight of his gaze. Her red eyes flicked sideways, narrowing.

“Why are you staring at me?”

He turned forward again, face as flat and unmoving as stone.

“The way your shoulders move interested me.”

Of all the replies she had expected - mockery, flirting, even silence - that had not been one. She blinked, ears twitching.

“My shoulders? You were staring at a girl’s shoulders?”

“Yes.”

The word came out clipped and absolute, his tone devoid of irony. She stumbled a step, caught off guard by his bluntness.

“Rude,” she muttered.

He didn’t answer. His silence wasn’t cold - it was simply a void, an absence of reaction. The two walked on, dust crunching underfoot, until the quiet gnawed at her patience.

“What’s your name?”

That at least gave him pause. He sifted through categories in his head. She was not a superior. Not a stranger. That left only one option.

“Jere.”

She nodded once.

“I’m Ylfa. A Formy.”

His brow rose slightly.

“Formy?”

Her head tilted, confusion flashing across her face at his ignorance.

“Izmeneniye Formy. My species.”

Jere gave a small nod, filing the term away without comment. Silence again.

Ylfa huffed.

“Do you even know who we are?”

“No.”

She stopped staring forward just to glare at him.

“Alright then. I’ll tell you.”

Her chest puffed with pride, a faint grin tugging at her mouth.

“We’re a species of demon known for being incredibly rare, incredibly powerful. We can shapeshift. One of the most feared bloodlines in the Demonlands.”

She lingered on the word feared, waiting for awe to crease his impassive face. It never came. He didn’t even glance her way.

She pouted, tail flicking in irritation.

“You’re not going to tell me what you are?”

His gaze never wavered from the road.

“I do not have a species.”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I am one of a kind.”

“Okay, and what is that kind?”

“An Angel of Death.”

The words dropped from his mouth like dull iron, so devoid of inflection they drained the very air.

Ylfa froze, staring. “An Angel of Death?”

He nodded, spreading his wings just enough - an elbow’s length - to catch the sunlight.

“That’s what I am.”

Her jaw worked silently. She couldn’t decide if he was joking, delusional, or deadly serious.

“So… do you just go around calling yourself that?”

“No.”

The conversation withered like a flower denied water. Ylfa clamped her mouth shut, realizing nothing she said would shift his mood. Together, they walked on.

The city walls loomed ahead, torches glowing like scattered stars along the gate. Jere slowed, frowning slightly at the thought of walking in beside a wolf.

“Are you going to change back?”

She turned her muzzle toward him, surprised.

“What, do you want to see a naked woman?”

His reply was so dry it drew a reluctant laugh from her throat.

“No.”

“Then why?”

“What will they think when we walk in?”

Understanding dawned, and her ears flicked upright.

“Oh. That. I don’t think it’ll be a problem. But if you want to see me in human form again, you’ll need to buy me some clothes.”

For the first time that afternoon, Jere’s expression actually shifted - a frown tugging faintly at his brow. His mind flooded with questions. How would he explain Ylfa to the King? How did currency even work here? And most importantly, what was he supposed to do with her?

To him, she was little more than a complication. The only thing she offered was companionship, and even that felt tenuous. She was a demon, an enemy - one who had tried to kill him not long ago. To be fair, he had tried to kill her first, but the outcome would have been inevitable sooner or later.

Now, as the gate loomed larger and the guards’ shadows stretched across the road, Jere wondered if sparing her had been the right choice.

The guards didn’t know what to think. A man dressed in black, followed by a dark brown dog that looked far too much like a wolf - certainly not the usual sort of visitor. Yet the man didn’t falter. He walked with a calm, steady gait, not even glancing at them. His lack of nerves was disarming, so they let him pass without question.

Jere moved forward, expression as lifeless as stone. He took no notice of the bustle around them.

Ylfa, however, had never set foot in a human city. Her eyes darted everywhere, drinking in the sights with almost childlike wonder. People hurried past carrying baskets of food or bundles of cloth. Couriers dashed through the streets with messages in hand. The houses - wooden frames with thatched roofs, small panes of glass catching the late sun - seemed alive with laughter and conversation.

Her nose twitched at every aroma drifting from the food stalls. She could separate each ingredient as clearly as if it were laid out before her: roasted meats, sweet fruits, pungent spices. The bright fabrics people wore shimmered like flowers in bloom, and children darted between legs in carefree games. It was so alive, so different from anything she knew. She almost forgot herself, her jaw parting as if to comment - before snapping it shut again. Wolves weren’t supposed to talk.

Jere paid it all no mind. He walked straight through the town, his path a direct line toward the hill where the palace and church stood. The sinking sun painted the sky in gold and amber, but his gaze never lifted.

When Ylfa realised where they were heading, unease prickled under her fur. She waited until no one was close before speaking in a hushed tone.

“Jere… why are we going to the palace?”

His reply was as flat as ever.

“I must report my mission’s success and request another.”

She didn’t understand, not entirely, but she nodded anyway.

“Oh. I see.”

At the top of the hill, Jere turned not to the palace first, but to the church. He pushed the tall double doors open, and Ylfa padded silently in behind him.

A priestly man awaited them - robes of white trimmed with gold, his rings glinting in the candlelight. He gave a polite smile.

“Ah, you must be J-1.” His eyes drifted down. “Though I heard nothing of a dog. A very… wolfish-looking dog.”

Ylfa resisted the urge to bare her teeth. She longed to sink them into his throat, but stayed still as Jere’s voice cut in.

“I seek my superior. Where is the King?”

The robed man shook his head.

“Away. I’ve been instructed to oversee your assignments in his stead.”

Jere’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t fully trust the words, but there was no way to test them now. He inclined his head slightly.

“Then I will report my success and request my next assignment.”

The man folded his hands.

“Your next task is simple. Go to the palace. Ask the maid there to grant you a room. You are free for the night. Tomorrow morning, come to me again.”

Jere gave a curt nod, then pivoted on his heel and strode back out into the cooling air.

Ylfa hurried after him, her tail twitching with restless nerves. The palace of the enemy King - she wondered what it would look like.

The answer came quickly.

They stepped beneath a towering stone archway into a hall so wide it echoed with their footsteps. Every inch was decorated with wealth beyond her imagining. Gilded frames lined the walls. Banners of embroidered silk hung overhead. Even the carpet under her paws felt richer than anything she had ever touched.

The heavy door shut behind them with a dull thud. At the far end of the grand hall, a maid appeared, emerging from a side doorway. She crossed the expanse toward them with graceful steps, her black and white uniform elegant and purposeful.

“Are you J-1?” she asked softly when she reached them.

Jere nodded once.

Her lips curved in a polite smile.

“Come with me. I’ll show you and your… dog to your quarters.”

He nodded once, and they followed the maid down the wide hall, through the far door, and into a corridor that branched in both directions - each side just as grand. She led them left, up a sweeping staircase, and along another passage lined with tall doors, each one framed in polished wood and golden trim. At last she stopped at one, pushed it open, and stepped aside.

“Here you go,” she said with a small smile. “Please find me if you need anything.”

With that, the maid drifted back down the hall, her footsteps fading into silence.

Jere entered without hesitation. The chamber inside was tall and spacious, fit for a prince - or at least someone who was expected to act like one. A desk stood beneath the window, a polished dresser lined one wall, and a vast bed dominated the center. Ornate décor filled every corner, rich with detail and purpose.

Jere gave it a single glance before lowering himself cross-legged to the floor.

Ylfa padded in after him and stopped, confused.
“What are you doing?”

He didn’t look up, his voice flat.
“Waiting for tomorrow morning.”

She stared at him for a long moment.
“You’re serious, aren’t you.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

She let out a huff.
“Do you… do you have emotions?”

“Only when necessary.”

Her tail twitched with irritation.
“Can you please… use them, then?”

He finally looked at her, his gaze steady and unblinking.
“What for?”

“So I can hold a decent conversation with you?” she snapped.

Jere gave no reply.

She sighed, exasperated.
“Do you sleep at all?”

“I have no need for sleep.”

Her ears flicked back in shock.
“No sleep! How?”

“I have… no. I won’t explain it.”

She frowned.
“Do you eat?”

He shook his head once.

A small worry kindled inside her.
“But… but I have to eat.”

“Then go eat something.”

“I can’t just go eat something!”

“Not my problem.”

Her growl was soft, but sharp. With a scowl she leapt onto the bed, circled once, and curled up as the last light of the sun bled away behind the hills.

Silence filled the room - until Jere broke it.

“Tell me about magic.”

Her ears pricked up instantly. She turned toward him, surprised.

“Magic?”

He nodded.

She shifted, gazing out the window as she gathered her thoughts.

“Where should I start?”

“Assume I know nothing.”

She nodded once.

“Okay. Magic is… something you’re born with. If you have it, you can use it as naturally as moving an arm or a leg. Some people are born stronger than others, but there’s no real limit to its use.”

Tilting her nose upward, she summoned a small flame. It hovered above her muzzle for a few seconds before flickering out.

“All magic branches can be used by anyone,” she explained. “But most people have favorites. I prefer fire. Others lean toward one of the five other branches - air, water, earth, light, or dark.”

Jere’s internal processors worked quietly, parsing the information. One thing was immediately clear: he would never wield it. He hadn’t been born - he had been created. Magic meant nothing to him.

He gave a single nod.

Ylfa studied him for a second longer, then dropped her head onto her paws with a huff, curling tighter on the bed.